


Monday

by Morgana



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 18:17:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mondays don't have to suck</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlpire](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=girlpire).



> Set in the future of the amazing [Friday](http://girlpire.livejournal.com/137712.html). If you haven't read it, you really, really should

You wake up to the sun on your face and the heavy scents of nicotine and sex hanging in the air. Like always, you wrinkle your nose and promise yourself that today is going to be the day you finally take a stand about smoking in the bedroom.

You lie in bed for five minutes with your eyes still closed, enjoying the stillness of the morning. You don't miss the heavy silence that your life used to be shrouded in, really you don't, but these first few moments of quiet have become an undeniably sweet treasure.

You get up and go into the shower, start the hot water and step into the stall.

Today is Monday. You suppose every office worker dreads going back to work after the weekend, and you really aren't that different. Especially since you took off early on Friday – again. That always means extra paperwork, but you think about the weekend and decide that it was worth it.

As if on cue, the shower door swings open and a rush of cool air sends the steam swirling in eddies around you. Arms slide around your waist and you're pulled back against a lithe body while a pair of lips kisses you just under the ear. "Mornin', luv," Spike murmurs.

"Morning," you reply, turning around to kiss him before you reach for the soap. You offer it to him and he lathers up, then starts to wash you. His hands sweep over your skin in a gentle caress and you can't help but smile at the paradox that is Spike. He'll gleefully rip heads off demons and skewer any electronic equipment that he gets frustrated with, but his touch is one of the softest things you've ever felt.

You briefly think about calling in late and taking him up against the tiles until the water runs cold, but the thought of the mounting paperwork cuts you off. So you wash Spike and content yourself with a few kisses and some teasing touches that leave both of you wanting more. When you're rinsed off, you get out and grab a towel, leaving Spike to enjoy the rest of the hot water.

He emerges just as you finish dressing and you kiss him again before he drops his towel and crawls back into bed. You pause to admire him, curled up in the spot you recently left, already dozing like a kitten in a pool of sunshine. "See you for lunch," you tell him, and he murmurs a sleepy assent. You want to go stroke his hair, but know that if you do, you'll end up spending the morning up here. So you take one more look and head for the elevator.

This is how you start the day.

The morning drags on, with paperwork taking over most of it. Harmony trots in and out with files, folders, reports and messages, all of it adding up to mind-numbing boredom that just manages to fill the time until you can leave again. Another dreary Monday, its tedium reflected in the empty eyes and flat voices all around you. You wonder how everyone stands it, then decide you really don't want to know.

You eat lunch with Fred, Wesley and Lorne in Wesley's office. Gunn had a court date and couldn't make it. You watch your friends chatter and laugh with each other, smiling at the easy camraderie that you'd once thought lost completely.

A little after lunch, Spike saunters into your office. "Leave," you tell him.

"Aw, I'm hurt, pet. Didn't mean to oversleep, now, did I?" He ignores you and perches on the edge of your desk, one boot hitting the wood with a hollow thunk as he idly swings his foot.

You put your pen down and look up at him. "Spike, what usually happens when you're down here for more than ten minutes and we don't have a meeting or apocalypse to deal with?"

"Well, generally we end up fightin' an' then shaggin', or goofin' around an' shaggin', or just -" He stops and gives you a sheepish grin. "See your point."

That little smile goes straight to your gut, and you consider telling Harmony to take messages while you lock the door and have an 'emergency strategy session' with Spike. Before you can do anything, though, the intercom beeps. "Um, Boss? Wesley said he wants to see you about the Skraaling demons, and Lorne needs you to sign off on the budget for the Halloween party by the end of the day. Also, Gunn's back from court."

You sigh, and Spike chuckles. "Duty calls, then." He leans over to kiss you, then hops down from the desk. "See you 'round, luv."

"Yeah, see you." You're already hunting for the budget sheet as he heads out. The sooner you get everything done, the sooner you can get out of here, maybe a little earlier than you planned.

You'd forgotten how plans never seem to work around here, though. One meeting turns into three, and it's almost nine before you realize it. You and Wesley agree to look into the Skraaling problem some more tomorrow, and you finally head upstairs, wishing again that you were anywhere but here.

The penthouse is quiet when you step off the elevator. Too quiet. "Spike?" you call as you close the front door. Did he go out to find a fight or maybe do some patrolling? He hadn't mentioned anything about it, but he often slips out when he gets restless, especially if you're staying late at the office.

You tell yourself that you're glad to have some peace and quiet at the end of such a long day. He'll be back soon enough, filling the place with punk music and television and the sound of his voice, but now you have some time to yourself. You can unwind, have some blood, read a book, maybe listen to some decent music for a change.

The relief lasts about thirty minutes, and that's twenty more than you really expected it to. You've taken your coat off, had a mug of blood and tried, yet again, to read Don Quixote in the original Spanish. But you can't get past the fourth paragraph of Chapter Three, and eventually you give up and close the book, then head into the bedroom. Maybe you'll take another shower before Spike gets back.

But when you open the bedroom door, you stop in your tracks. Because Spike's lying shackled to the bed, black silk cutting across his face where it covers his eyes, another strip of it caught between his lips. You have no idea how he managed to get himself into this kind of position, but as you take the first step into the room and watch his head come up, nostrils flaring as he catches your scent, you decide you really don't care.

With Spike to come home to, Monday doesn't seem quite so dreary anymore.


End file.
